The Silver Stair

2

"These insects! For each one I swat, a hundred arrive to take revenge!"

The dwarf chuckled at his companion as he tromped clumsily through a tangle of tall grass. "So what d'ya expect, Gair? It's summer, an' we're in the woods, miles and miles from any city or village or anythin' else for that matter. Out in the middle of nowhere. "Sides, I'd think you'd like it."

"Like insects?"

"The woods. Elves're supposed to like the woods, ain't they?" The dwarf's voice was deep and craggy, but not unpleasant. He paused and pretended to tug thoughtfully at his short russet beard before he repeated a little louder, "Well, ain't they?"

"And dwarves are supposed to like the mountains, or so I've heard. There's not a single mountain on this island." Despite his gruffness, the elf's words sounded silky and musical and soft, like the faint rustling of the leaves.

"Ah, by Reorx's beard, I do like the mountains, but the woods are just fine."

The elf sighed and batted futilely at a swarm of gnats wreathing his head. "I like the woods 'just fine,' too, Jasper, when there is enough of a breeze to keep the insects-and this appalling heat-at bay, that is. It's hours after sunset, and it's still insufferably hot. My clothes are drenched with sweat."

The dwarf chuckled again and resumed his tromping. "We could stop for the night. Tired?"

"No." The elf grimaced as he flicked a large shiny beetle off his shirt. "We might be close, if we're not lost."

"Close? Do you really think so?" There was hope in the craggy voice.

"No. I believe we are lost."

"Gair, I think you just like to complain."

The pair presented a sharp contrast. The dwarf was thickset and ruddy complected, looking a bit like a tree stump bedecked in an age-worn ginger-colored shirt with sleeves pushed up past his elbows and bright green pants that were stuffed into the tops of faded leather boots. He had brawny limbs and stubby fingers that flitted playfully across the array of ferns that spread alongside the overgrown path. His hair was uncharacteristically short for one of his race, and his blue eyes, from which the hint of a few smile lines sprouted, sparkled mischievously. His face was broad and careworn, his nose slightly bulbous and a little offcenter. His wide teeth were even, practically perfect, and as he grinned they glimmered like polished pearls in the light of the full moon that cut through gaps in the canopy.

"I don't complain, my dwarven friend, not at all. As a matter of…" The elf frowned and mumbled a string of foreign-sounding curse words as a thorny branch snagged his voluminous sleeve. "I was only making conversation," he added more softly.

"An' you don't argue, either, do you, Gair?" The dwarf sniggered, half under his breath. "An' I bet you really don't like the woods. All you like are books and magic."

Gair was tall for an elf at nearly six feet. He had to duck frequently to keep from getting smacked by lowhanging tree branches that the dwarf easily passed under. His eyes looked black-shiny-like wet stones- nearly matching the shade of his impeccably pressed and recently purchased trousers and shirt. Were the light better, however, his eyes would show themselves to be a rich shade of purple flecked with bits of gold. There were muscles rippling in his lithe frame, a hidden strength, and he carried himself gracefully, like a dancer, despite the large pack on his back. His skin was pale, a scholar's complexion, and his face was slightly gaunt, yet handsome, his expression serious. His hair was shiny silver-white like the moon, and as he walked, it fluttered back from his firmly set jaw and teased his narrow shoulders.

"Jasper, to be honest, I've just never enjoyed the Raging Fire all that much, or all these insects that come with it. It's just too hot to do much of anything. Too hot to think. Too hot to… it's just too hot."

Raging Fire was a plainsman term for the warmest month of the summer. The elf and the dwarf found themselves in the heart of an especially sweltering evening.

"I've never minded the Raging Fire-the Dry Heat." The latter was the dwarven term for the same month.

"You don't mind anything."

"Ah, Gair, the key is not to mind it but to appreciate it." The dwarf watched the elf nimbly avoid an exposed sweet bay root while he struggled to tug his own boot free of it. "Just look for somethin' enjoyable-the sounds of the crickets, the song of the owls, the feel of the new leaves beneath your fingertips. Mmm… the heat of the summer against your skin. All the things you don't care for just run right off your shoulder like rainwater, forgotten."

The elf sighed again. "At least it quit raining."

The pair lapsed into silence and continued down the twisting path, allowing their keen vision to separate the shadows so they could find their way through the dark woods. An owl hooted, long and soft, its call muted by distance. Closer, a hawk cried shrilly to its mate. A startled whippoorwill took flight, its wings beating against the leaves as it climbed and sending a cloud of finches rising and chittering in its wake. Around the elf and the dwarf, a symphony of crickets and frogs swelled, stopping for only an instant when Jasper stepped on a fallen branch, snapping it loudly beneath his heavy foot.

It had rained briefly earlier in the day. The moisture had long since burned off the foliage in the late afternoon sun, leaving the ground smelling rich and sweet. There were few spots where something wasn't growing on the forest floor-mushrooms, moss, creeper vines, a variety of grasses, wildflowers that gave off a faint, fragrant scent, and trees and more trees. The rising moon revealed an amazing diversity of the latter-junipers, willows, flowering pears, shaggybarks, hardwoods, nut trees, ginkgoes, poplars, wild cherries that had given up their fruit months ago, cedars, and some broad-leafed trees that were somehow hardy enough to handle the island's winters. When Krynn was much younger and colder, floes of ice pushed seeds from the far north and the far south to this place, resulting in the present remarkable mix of trees and plants. The Cataclysm further altered the land, crushing the spiraling mountains that once formed a jagged spine down the middle of the island, leaving instead gently sloping hills-and inadvertently giving the foliage more places to grow.

"Are you sure this is the right path?"

The dwarf nodded.

"Are you sure we didn't miss a fork somewhere?"

The dwarf nodded again and noted sadly that the crickets had stopped their serenade.

"Then we must be close. We should have caught up to her by now."

Jasper made a huffing sound. "She's got better'n two hours' start on us, Gair. Wanted a little time alone. Remember?"

"I never should have let her go." The elf waited for the dwarf to agree. Getting no response, he continued. "She's far from a young woman, Jasper Fireforge, and unless she turned off on another path to rest somewhere, we should have caught up to her by now."

Again no response.

"Maybe something happened to her. She could be lost, hurt. We should have talked her into searching in the morning."

"Can't find what she's lookin' for in the daylight."

"We should have-"

"Wouldn't've done any good."

"We could go back and retrace our steps, see if she-"

"Goldmoon can take care of herself, Gair. She's all right." The dwarf's voice was confident. Inwardly he worried a little.

Gair stopped on the path and ran a sweaty hand through his hair. The leaves of a willow teased the top of his head. "We should have followed right away, not waited. She's taking far too many chances for someone her age."

"And you take far too few," the dwarf whispered too softly for the elf to hear.

"She could have gone some other time. She's human. She can't see in the dark like we can. She…"

The dwarf made a clucking sound as he stepped in something squishy. He kept his eyes straight ahead, not wanting to discover what it was. "We're the students, Gair. She's the teacher. 'Sides, I've known her a little longer'n you, an' I know she can manage. She'll be all right, you'll see, an' we'll catch up soon enough." He huffed. "An' then I can get some sleep."

"I hope you're right, my friend, but I am not happy about this." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And I have the oddest sensation prickling at the back of my neck."

"Like we're bein' watched?" the dwarf asked in a hushed tone.

"Yes."

"I think someone's been watchin' us for quite some time."

Goldmoon picked her way through the woods, using a small lantern to guide her. The oil was burning low, so she tried to increase her pace, not wanting to be caught alone in complete darkness. The aging healer was tired, long decades and the heat of the Raging Fire had taken their toll. Her aching legs suggested she rest awhile, but her will was much stronger than her body, and she refused to give in. She'd come too far to stop now.

She inhaled, slowly and deeply, and ran her sleeve across her forehead to wipe away the sweat. "Beloved Riverwind, I remember when we shared many Raging Fires together. I miss those years desperately. The heat was tolerable with you at my side. Everything was somehow… better."

She continued along the overgrown path, seemingly talking to herself and musing about what brought her to Schallsea Island in the middle of the New Sea-a need to find a purpose for however many years she had left on the face of Krynn. Goldmoon wasn't convinced she would find the answer here, though something in her heart urged her to search here. If she didn't find what she was seeking, she would travel somewhere else, maybe back across the New Sea to Abanasinia and the Que-Shu tribes, her people, or perhaps far to the south, in the Plains of Dust. There were many mystical sites dotting that arid land, places where the magic of the gods was still rich and pulsing, where the Raging Fire would be even more intense. She was looking for just such a mystical site now.

"Where is it, my beloved?" Goldmoon had consulted a cartographer a few days ago in the island's small port town. She was on the correct path, she was certain of it, and she could sense that many others had traveled this way through past decades. Indeed, the cartographer had told her people from town still wandered out occasionally to take a look at the site, though almost always when the weather was more pleasant and always in respectable numbers to insure their safety. There were wild animals on the island, he said.

"Where? It can't be much farther."

Through gaps in the shaggybark branches, she saw the stars winking into view in a purple-black sky. Their light was mimicked by the fireflies that danced around her lantern. The constellations were far different now than they had been when her husband Riverwind was alive and at her side. That was a time when the gods still maintained a presence on Krynn and when magic came easily. After the gods left Krynn following the Chaos War, the stars changed, and the three familiar moons vanished. Now only one cold, pale moon hung in the sky, competing with the stars for her attention.

"I wish you were here to search with me, my beloved. I wish…" Her thoughts trailed off. The trees before her were thinning out, giving way to a clearing. The grass was tall and brittle-looking from the summer's heat, and the ferns that grew haphazardly amidst the grass were stunted. But something rose in the center, stretching taller than the oldest of trees. Goldmoon gasped, and the lantern slipped from her fingers.

"By the memory of Mishakal," she breathed. The healer stared wide-eyed, not daring to blink, her feet rooted to the spot. She was called a Hero of the Lance, had fought dragons in her youth, brought healing magic to Krynn, witnessed unbelievable wonders- things that common folk didn't even know to dream about, but all of those things paled beside this.

"It's… it's beautiful," she whispered after several moments. She could find no other word to describe it, yet beautiful seemed woefully inadequate.

Like a curling strand of hair, the stairway spun down from a faint, wispy cloud, glimmering like diamonds and shaming the stars. She stared in disbelief for several long minutes until her legs tingled from lack of movement. She held her breath, closed her eyes, and slowly opened them again. The stairs were still there.

Goldmoon risked a step forward, then another. She let her pack fall from her shoulders, followed by her cloak, not hearing either drop to the ground. Scarcely breathing, tentatively edging closer, she kept her eyes on the spiral. The steps shimmered faintly, inviting and haunting and looking as insubstantial as strips of gossamer glimmering with some undefinable inner radiance. They twisted up until their light looked as pale as a slender moonbeam, disappearing into the wispy clouds far overhead.

"The Silver Stair," she whispered. "By the sacred memory of Mishakal, why did I wait so long to travel here?"

Her words were the only sound in the clearing. No insects chittered, and the faint breeze through her sweat-soaked graying hair scarcely rustled a blade of grass. She could hear her heart, the breath coming in and out of her lungs, the sounds as oppressive as the heat. Her chest felt tight, whether from fear or from awe or perhaps from both. Her fingers trembled as she moved closer to the construction, and she bit down on her lower lip until she tasted blood. She had not fallen asleep on the trail. She was not dreaming.

The light intensified as she came closer still, filling her vision as she moved to stand in front of the spiral. It glimmered like sun specks caught on the surface of a still sea, winked and sparkled and made her breath catch in her throat as she stared at the bottom step. The steps looked fragile, like the wings of a butterfly, and she could see through them to the ground beneath.

She bent over to touch the bottom step, half worried that it might burn her with its magic, half afraid that it would pop like a soap bubble. Her fingers tingled as they traced a pattern of shimmering lights, felt the magical energy that suffused the step and likely the entire staircase. Goldmoon couldn't discern what the stairway was made of-not enchanted wood or steel, certainly not glass. This was truly a mystery, a creation of the vanished gods. She laid her palm flat against it, reveling in the pulsing sensation, then pressed hard against it to be certain it would hold her weight.

The cartographer had told her that people came out here to look at the stairs, yet none within his memory had dared to climb it, though he admitted they might not have told him about it. She edged out of her sandals, feeling the coarse grass against the soles of her feet. She put one foot and then the other on the lowest step, steeling herself as the tingling energy pulsed against her skin and crept up her legs. She didn't want to miss even one sensation, and she feared that even the thin leather of her sandals might mute this experience.

She wished Jasper and Gair were here to share in this, regretted a little that she had plunged on ahead of them. However, Goldmoon had wanted- needed- some time alone, and there was some consolation that her favorite students would not be too far behind. She glanced down at her discarded sandals, swallowed hard, and took another step, then another. There were no handholds, no landings that she could discern, just this seemingly never-ending spiral of steps so narrow that her heels hung over the edge.

Goldmoon continued to climb, the hot summer air cocooning her and making her sweat even more profusely. The sweat-slick skin of her feet made her ascent more precarious, but she wasn't about to turn back and retrieve her sandals. She guessed she was at least a dozen feet above the earth when she paused to catch her breath. Her sailcloth tunic clung to her body, and her leggings were as wet as if she'd been wading. If she climbed higher, she knew that one careless footfall would bring certain death, but she wasn't afraid of dying. She had lived long enough, outlived, in fact, all those who had been closest to her. Perhaps it was past time for her spirit to join theirs.

She steadied herself as a faint wave of dizziness washed over her, and she concentrated on the tingling of the steps against her feet. The healer's legs ached. She'd pushed herself hard to reach this place by nightfall, and she was pushing herself harder still. There were limits to her aging body, and she had just about reached them. She would not give in to the infirmity of her years just yet. Goldmoon glanced to the south as she climbed higher, thrusting the soreness in her legs to the back of her mind and focusing instead on the faint lights of the port city of Schallsea. She climbed higher still, until her feet felt numb, her legs felt stiff like wood, until those lights almost disappeared, looking as tiny as fireflies. Higher.

The heat was gone from the summer sky, replaced with a chill breeze this high above the ground. She climbed higher still, wishing she'd not abandoned her cloak. It was cold now, and the wind was increasing in intensity. She forced herself to continue.

Goldmoon shivered as the wind whirled all around her. Trails of fire and ice raced in and out of her with each step she took. Her lungs burned from the climb and froze from the thin, cold air she was taking into them in ever more ragged gulps. Her feet tingled, not the interesting, magical sensation any longer. The energy of the place seemed stronger the higher she climbed, and the tingling was causing her feet to throb almost painfully.

"Not much farther," she said to herself, though in truth she didn't know how much higher the stairway went. She still couldn't see the top of it. She entertained no thoughts of giving up, but she mentally berated herself for not seeking this site much earlier in her life, when her body was as strong as her mind and when she was confident she would have been able to reach the top. She wasn't completely certain she had the physical strength left to tackle this, at least not this night.

As she continued to ascend, more doubts about her capabilities crept into her mind. It took a considerable effort now to lift her legs to attain the next step, and there were so many steps left to go. She didn't want to give up, wouldn't willingly give up, but she recognized that no matter how strong her mind was, her body would not permit her to go much farther, perhaps not any farther.

As well, there was the climb down to consider.

Goldmoon knew the Silver Stair was the only surviving Celestial Ladder on all of Krynn. At one time, there had been two others, and each was said to take those who dared to climb them to the home of a god of magic. The Silver Stair was reputed to be the link to Solinari, the god of good magic. The other two ladders, the Star Stones in Neraka and the Moon Steps in Northern Ergoth, were said to have led to the homes of Nuitari and Lunitari respectively. Both those stairways had collapsed during the Chaos War.

Goldmoon glanced down. She no longer saw the firefly lights of the port town of Schallsea, nor could she see the ground-only blackness, cut through by the moonbeam of glistening silver steps winding away below her. Higher, she demanded of herself… just a little higher.

The fact that this one Celestial Ladder remained, Goldmoon thought, surely was a sign that good would ultimately triumph in the dragon-plagued world. Now if she could only triumph over the limitations of her body and reach the top before she froze to death.

A few more steps and a mist swirled around her head. Clouds, she guessed as she reached deep inside herself to summon the very last of her strength, climbing higher still. Suddenly the mist swirled all around her, and she could no longer make out the stairway above or below her-even directly beneath her feet. Her pace slowed to a crawl as she forced herself on, edged one foot up at a time, feeling for the next step. It was so terribly cold here, and the air was incredibly thin. It hurt just to breathe.

"Not much farther." Please, she added to herself, please don't let it be much farther. There had to be an end to the stairway, didn't there? It couldn't continue on to infinity.

She felt as if she couldn't move another inch when her head poked above the clouds and the last few steps came into view. "Not much farther," she stated with more conviction as she slowly struggled up the remaining few steps, her legs so sore it felt as if tiny needles were being jabbed into them.

Balancing carefully on the top step, she gazed out at a majestic sea of stars spread out like a blanket before her. She sucked in her breath, overwhelmed by the stark resplendence. Abruptly the stars were gone, the cold gone. The stairway beneath her feet had faded. In a heartbeat, stretching out before her was an arid plane.

"By the vanished gods," she breathed in hushed disbelief. The air grew instantly warm around her, night turned to bright day, and waves of heat drifted up from the parched ground. The waves quavered and caught her attention, coalescing to form an image of a beautiful woman.

"Mishakal," Goldmoon whispered. Her fingers fluttered up to touch an ornate disk hanging around her neck, the symbol of Mishakal, the goddess of healing magic whom she revered and had dedicated her life to so many years ago. "Mishakal?" Goldmoon somehow found a new reserve of strength. She took a step forward and another, experiencing a moment of panic so intense it felt as if her heart were being squeezed. This is an illusion, she admonished herself. You're standing on the topmost step of the Silver Stair, and if you move another inch you'll fall a very long distance.

The goddess floated backward, her arms beckoning Goldmoon to follow. She seemed so incredibly real.

"It's an illusion," Goldmoon stated aloud. Nevertheless, she edged a foot out. The ground, cracked like a scorched riverbed, felt solid enough beneath her bare feet, and it felt genuine-dry and jagged and unpleasant to walk upon. The tingling of the stair was gone. She tentatively took another step, and then another and another. As she neared the goddess, the air grew warmer, as hot as a blistering day during Raging Fire.

"Mishakal," Goldmoon said in a strong voice, staring into the diaphanous face of the goddess. "Where are you? Have you truly left Krynn? Am I only imagining you?"

As if in answer, the effigy faltered, and Goldmoon stretched out a hand to touch it, hoping to hold on to some part of the goddess, and therefore some part of the faith she once fervently had in her and in all of Krynn's deities. "Mishakal? No!"

The image wavered until it was so transparent she could hardly make it out, then it grew until it towered over Goldmoon and the plateau. It darkened and thickened, taking on a new visage.

"Chaos." The word sent the color draining from Goldmoon's face.

The God of All and of Nothing opened his maw and laughed at the insignificant healer so far below him. Goldmoon thrust her hands over her ears to blot out the sound. Instead, she heard the laughter more clearly. As it grew louder, it became distorted, sounding like the roar of a great fire one moment, next like the booming thunder of a storm. The sound receded, but it did not disappear entirely, as other noises came from the god's mouth-snarls and battle cries. He opened his maw wider, and tiny dragons fluttered out in a blur of racing colors.

The soft thunder of his laughter was gradually drowned out by the cracks from bolts of lightning that came from blue dragons. As those dragons grew larger and started circling the god's head, Goldmoon made out Knights of Takhisis astride their backs. The dragons passed close so the riders could jab lances at the god's eyes. Silver dragons joined the blues, Solamnic knights mounted atop them. Their small swords glimmered like stars.

The plain beneath Chaos's feet rippled, and from the ground sprouted more knights and dragons, all fighting the God of Everything and of Nothing-and all to no avail. Goldmoon guessed she was seeing the Chaos War in the Abyss played out before her.

The fight continued for what seemed like hours, though she sensed only minutes had passed. Nothing seemed to faze the god. Nearly hidden behind the god's leg, Goldmoon saw the diaphanous image of Mishakal once more, and near her a kender who plunged a knife into the god's boot.

The laughter stopped, and the great form of Chaos seemed to tremble. The god inhaled deeply then, drawing back into his mouth the forms of the dragons and knights-and the form of Mishakal, who spiraled around his body and then slipped inside his mouth as his teeth clamped closed.

"Chaos took the gods with him," Goldmoon stated softly. "When he left Krynn, he bade them to follow." She stared at the great image, which trembled more noticeably now. As Goldmoon continued to watch, his form began to shrink and then to melt. She stepped backward as a god pool formed on the plateau, red with the blood of Chaos and those he had slaughtered. The pool bubbled like lava, adding to the heat of the place, and Goldmoon's eyes grew wide as the bubbles rose above the pool and collected into the images of the great dragons now plaguing Krynn.

They flew toward her, diving and passing through her like phantasms, so fast that they were a blinding blur of red and white, black and green and blue. She blinked and trembled in disbelief as the dry ground rippled, the lava becoming a bright green now and covering the land, the bubbles thinning and forming tall blades of grass. Trees sprouted at the edge of her vision, circling her as the sky darkened again. She stood in a clearing now, and before her was the Silver Stair, its steps glimmering invitingly as they had when she first saw them. Minutes ago? Just this instant? Waiting to be climbed.

"I…" For a moment Goldmoon wondered if she had ever climbed the stairs in the first place, if she had instead fallen down from exhaustion and merely imagined the arduous climb and the images of Chaos and Mishakal at the top. There was no cloak on her shoulders, and no sandals at the base of the steps that twinkled several yards away. She glanced behind her: no discarded lantern.

She took a tentative step forward and considered climbing this new stairway, though she doubted she could manage more than a few feet. Another step.

"Ouch!" Bending down, she saw a nail. There was a small pile of them, and a hammer nearby-Jasper's hammer. The nails and hammer hadn't been there a heartbeat before. When she again looked up to see the stairs, the land had changed once more. Hedges, carefully trimmed, circled the steps and flowed outward like spilled ink. She skittered back several steps to avoid being overrun by the bushes. Springing up around them were large pearls.

Not pearls, she realized as she stared longer and the globes grew to dwarf her. Buildings. They ringed her and the hedges and the stairway like a bracelet. As she tried to take it all in, she heard voices. Coming from all around her, they were talking to her, though she saw no one, only shadows moving about within the globes.

"Teach me." The voice was young and feminine.

"I want to help others." An elderly man's voice.

"Teach me."

"I don't understand this… this power of the heart. Is that what you call it?" This was a coarse voice, sounding almost dwarflike.

"Teach me."

"I want to make a difference." The young, feminine voice again. "Show me how."

"Teach me. Please."

"Teach me… teach me… teach me." The words repeated like the persistent buzzing of a bee. More and more shadows flitted inside the globes, pressing themselves against the glass, looking out at her, whispering to her, asking her to teach them. "Teach me." It had become a resonant mantra.

Goldmoon could almost make out faces.

" I… I will teach you," she heard herself say. "All of you. I will…" Her words trailed off as the globes melted into the ground, and the grass ran like water away from her in all directions. The stars winked into view again, gemstones on velvet, and the Silver Stair that had seemed several yards away was now beneath her feet, the topmost step tingling with magical energy. She was impossibly high above the earth once more.

The air was cold again, and the breeze whipped her silver-gold hair madly about her face. She brushed away the strands, carefully pivoted on the balls of her feet, and slowly made her way down the waiting stairs.

"Goldmoon! Are you all right?" Gair was at the edge of the clearing where he had picked up her lantern. Concern was etched deeply on his young face. Jasper tromped past him as fast as his stumpy legs would carry him, his eyes locked on to the shimmering stairway, mouth open in amazement, all thoughts of whatever or whoever had been watching them instantly discarded. The dwarf mumbled a greeting to Goldmoon as he brushed by her and approached the celestial ladder.

Goldmoon knelt to retrieve her cloak, slipped into her sandals. "I'm fine, Gair," she answered. "I feel… well." The ache was gone from her legs and she breathed easily, as if she hadn't undertaken the laborious climb up the magical staircase or the long walk to reach the clearing. "I'm just a little tired. It's been a long day."

Goldmoon watched as the relieved elf left her side to circle the staircase. The dwarf stood unmoving, like a rock, about a yard away from the base of the Silver Stair and was mumbling something in his native tongue. The elf couldn't contain his curiosity, touching the steps, feeling the energy tingle beneath his fingertips. He climbed up the first half-dozen steps, craning his neck toward the stars above, then scampered down, his cautious nature winning out, and nearly knocking Jasper over.

"You climbed it," Gair began as he rushed back to her side. "I saw you coming down just as we got here. You looked like you were walking on air. Did you go all the way to the top?"

Goldmoon nodded, a smile playing gently across her lined face as she saw the dwarf finally move. He inched closer, knelt in front of the stair as if it were an altar, prodded at the bottom step with the scrutinizing eye of an engineer. "What's it made of?" she heard him ask. "It's not metal. Amazin'."

"I can't even see the top," the elf interjected. "What's up there, anyway?"

The aging healer drew her lower lip into her mouth. It still tasted faintly of blood. "I'm not sure, Gair. Everything. Nothing. You must climb it and find out yourself."

The elf was clearly fascinated by the structure, as he was with magic in general, drawn to it like a moth to light. Again he scampered up the first few steps, nearly trampling Jasper's questing fingers. He craned his neck upward and narrowed his eyes. The dwarf continued to prod at the lowest step.

"Truly amazin'," Jasper said in a hushed tone.

"Tales say the Silver Stair only shows itself by the light of the moon," Goldmoon explained as she glanced around the clearing. She thought she'd heard a twig snap somewhere nearby.

"Wish my Uncle Flint were alive to see this." Jasper cocked his head. "Hmmph. On second thought, maybe he did. He traveled quite a bit. Amazin'." The dwarf looked up at his elven friend, rooted on the seventh step, still staring at the stars and trying to see the top of the stairway. "Go ahead, Gair."

The elf didn't budge.

"Well, you gonna climb it?"

The elf shook his head and leapt nimbly to the ground.

"Ah, the wariness of youth," the dwarf grumbled. "You never take chances."

"Some other time," Gair replied. "I'm sure we'll return here. I'll climb it then."

"Return?" Goldmoon stopped her survey of the clearing. "Gair, Jasper, I'm not leaving, not for a long time. Perhaps not for the rest of my life."

Behind the elf, Jasper chattered happily to himself. "Well, at least I won't have to climb the stairway tonight then. There'll be plenty of time later. An' then maybe I can figure out what it's made of. Not metal, that's for certain. Tomorrow night, I think, I'll climb it. Maybe I can get some sleep now." He tromped a few feet away from the Celestial Ladder and settled himself on the ground, cradling his head with his folded arms, his face pointing toward the magical structure.

"Not leaving?" The elf's mouth gaped open, then he quickly regained his composure and presented his serious face. "You're going to stay here? But Goldmoon, what about your students in Abanasinia? You've so much to offer them, and they have so much yet to learn."

"We'll send word for them to join us." She reached into her pack and retrieved a thin blanket, carefully spread it on the ground near the base of the stairway, and lay down. She arranged her pack to use as a pillow. Despite the warm night air, she pulled her cloak over her. "I'll teach them here."

The elf scanned the clearing, remembering the prickling sensation on his neck. The sensation was gone now, and whatever or whoever had been watching them was likely gone with it. Maybe it was just a forest animal. He vowed to look for tracks in the morning.

As he considered the situation, a chorus of crickets rose around him, accompanied by the sonorous tone of Jasper's snoring. He turned to glance again at the magical stairway, stepped closer, and bent to touch the bottom step. Energy pulsed through it, and he felt a tingling sensation against his slender fingers. He ran his hand along the edge of the step, then along the underside.

"All right," the elf pronounced to himself as he concentrated on the tingling energy that continued to pulse through his fingertips. "I suppose I could get used to the woods again. We can stay here for a while, anyway." He swatted at a mosquito with his free hand and stared up the spiral staircase. "So beautiful."